


“A Stirring of Dust”

by Lady Day (day221b)



Category: Dresden Files (TV)
Genre: Gen, Harry Dresden (age 11)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-02
Updated: 2007-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/day221b/pseuds/Lady%20Day
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“A Stirring of Dust”

**Author's Note:**

> Strictly Television 'verse.  
> Beta'd for grammar by the lovely and talented goodiesfan. Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> Characters: Bob, Harry (age 11)  
> Spoilers: "What About Bob?"  
> Disclaimer: The Dresden Files belongs to Jim Butcher. I own nothing and I make no money. This purely done as a labor of love.

~*~  


Materializing in a gold swirl and black smoke, Hrothbert of Bainbridge surveyed the room. The surroundings were alien to him as it wasn't his normal environment of chalkboards and spell books.

Attempting to deduce where he was and how he'd gotten there, he turned and found his young charge staring intently at the markings engraved into his skull. The child sat cross-legged on a bed. The boy’s bed, obviously. A poster that read: _The Astounding Dresden: Master of Magic_ hung on the wall opposite him.

He was in Harry’s bedroom.

“Did you require something?” he asked. He could hear the annoyance in his own voice. It was accompanied by the realization that Harry had carried his skull from the study-turned-classroom all the way into the boy’s inner sanctum and he hadn't noticed. He'd lain dormant - as snug as a bug - within the child's arms.

While he was growing fond of the boy, he didn't like the implications of that particular revelation. He was far more annoyed with himself than Harry, but he let the boy draw his own conclusions.

Harry simply shook his head, his attention still riveted on the skull he had in his possession. He turned it over and over carefully in his hands, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

"You know. This would've totally creeped me out a few months back."

The ghost glanced toward the child’s window before returning his attention back to Harry. Judging by the position of the moon outside, he should have been asleep hours ago. “What are you still doing up, Harry?”

Harry shrugged and finally glanced up at him. “Why do you care?”

So that’s how they were going to play it. The young man was still smarting over a minor disagreement they’d had earlier. Harry had allowed a few blunt words spoken in jest to hurt his feelings. It hadn’t been the ghost's intention. Sometimes their sense of humor clashed.

“I never said that I did. I merely inquired." He moved to stand beside the bed and watched Harry as he fiddled with the skull. "Though I must ask as to the reason why you feel an inexplicable need to manhandle my skull. Were I of a more nervous temperament, I might be concerned."

"Tell me," He began, leaning forward. "You haven’t chosen to take up juggling, have you? I must say that I doubt it’ll be a highly successful venture. You’ll find that jugglers must have a minimum requirement of three skulls in their possession for a proper two-handed routine and I only have the one."

Harry eyed him oddly and then sighed. “Bob, I was just curious.”

The ghost inwardly cringed at the name. He was making an effort to grow accustomed to it, but the child's insistence on this new moniker wasn't sitting well with him. While he didn’t actually believe that Harry began calling him ‘Bob’ out of anything other than an attempt at friendship, it was an impotent, harmless little name. It was a parody of the kind of power he’d once possessed.

Judging by the hurt in Harry's expression, he'd misinterpreted Bob's silence. “Honestly. I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was just curious.”

Bob glanced down at the remnant of his former existence, attempting to see it through Harry’s eyes. “It’s a skull. What is there to be curious about?” Getting no reply, he gestured toward the cursed thing. “If you would permit me, I could explain the markings for you.”

Harry only shook his head and turned his attention back to the skull.

Bob lowered his head. Sighing, he accepted this small defeat. He knew Harry to be a bright child from all the time he’d spent teaching him the basics in their makeshift classroom. The trouble was that he was finding it incredibly difficult to teach him anything in the way of magic.

It was unusual to say the least. He knew from past experience that most of his pupils - both the young and the very old alike - were too proud of their own abilities from the first and would try to impress him with their little flash and dazzle tricks.

With Harry that simply wasn’t the case. Bob had attempted to draw him out, but he wouldn't try. Instead he found that his student hid behind those too-dark eyes of his and gave him blank stares that masked the intelligence lurking just out of reach.

Harry’s father had instilled in his son an almost manic need to hide his ability. To keep it secret. While the child’s father had been wise to keep such a gift hidden from those who would prey upon him, it wasn’t doing Bob any favors. After so many years of such conditioning, Harry’s instinct to protect himself from exposure was a formidable obstacle and not one to be overcome overnight. It would take time and a lot of patience. It was fortunate for Harry's sake that Bob had both of those in abundance.

On the other hand, his current master - the boy’s uncle - had no such concept. If Bob couldn’t find a chink in Harry’s armor soon, he feared that Justin Morningway would decide to take matters into his own hands. While such an event would release him from any obligation to Harry, he wasn’t willing to give up on him quite yet.

Harry was stubborn and becoming more smart-mouthed with each passing day. It was a trait, he suspected, that was partly his own influence. The little urchin had spirit to be sure. Why Bob cared was beyond him, but he didn’t want to see that spirit broken if he could somehow prevent it.

“It's late, Harry. All the good little boys and girls should be in bed _and_ asleep. I would think you'd want to join them.”

Harry squinted up at him, visibly taking offense. “How old do you think I am?” he challenged.

Bob bristled at the tone and rose up to his full height. He eyed Harry curiously, but said nothing.

Harry was the one to look away first from their silent battle of wills. “I had a nightmare,” he mumbled. “About my father."

Bob nodded, then glanced away. "Ah."

“He was all scary and gross, but I could tell it was him. I think he was trying to warn me about something.”

“Of anything in particular?” Bob asked the question with an air of nonchalance, but he was on his guard.

While Bob hadn't been directly responsible for the death of Harry’s father, he certainly had a hand in it. Justin had used the knowledge that he, himself, supplied to cast the spell that ultimately killed the man. Bob had no doubt that one day Harry would figure it all out. The dread that accompanied that particular insight disturbed him. He'd believed that he lost what little conscience he possessed long ago. Only he found to his surprise that he wasn’t ready to have to face up to the role he'd played in that nasty bit of business. The guilt nagged at him.

Innocent in the matter, Harry was unaware of any of it. He merely shrugged Bob's question away. “I don’t know. Maybe...”

He caught Harry watching him. His charge was sneaking glances at him through his bangs, which had grown quite long in the few short months of his stay.

“Or maybe it was the zombie movie I happened to sorta, kinda, maybe watch on TV earlier.”

“I did try to warn you about that,” Bob chided. His relief over Harry's confession was pushed back and away, never allowed to enter his tone.

Harry waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You never get tired of saying that, do you? Besides I didn’t watch the whole thing. Just bits and pieces.”

“In answer to your question: It’s the highlight of my existence,” Bob retorted, wryly. “As to the little matter of your self-control--“

“I didn’t want to hear anything you had to say," Harry interrupted. "I was pissed at you.”

Bob leaned forward again, this time with his hands behind his back, prepared for a long lecture. “So you watch the movie to spite me. Only now it is you who suffers from bad dreams. Please do explain how your retaliation affects myself in this fiendish plot of yours."

“I didn’t say that I thought it through,” Harry confessed.

“That much is quite obvious,” Bob rebuked with a gentle sigh and straightened up.

He turned and found himself drawn to Harry’s open window. The freedom it represented compelled him closer; he answered its siren call and looked out into the night. He'd never seen the view of the grounds from this part of the house before. Even in the darkness it was stunning.

“What’s so stunning about it?”

He hadn’t realized he’d uttered those words aloud, but he must have as Harry was now standing beside him, his head poked out the window. He spared Harry a glance before returning his attention back to the view.

“There’s nothing out there to see. It’s all blackness.”

Before Bob could respond, Harry leaned his weight against the window frame. He sensed his charge tense up beside him right before he heard a startled gasp. Harry darted forward only to yelp and scramble back.

Bob looked down at the windowsill and found the source of Harry's panic. It was a torn spider’s web. The hole in the web was the size of Harry's hand.

“Were you bitten?” he asked, concerned.

Harry shook his hand free of part of the web still attached to his fingers. “No, I don’t think so. The spider came out of nowhere and scared the beejezus outta me, though.”

Harry's palm was covered up by his fingers and formed a loosely closed fist. Upon seeing it, Bob became alarmed. “Harry," he said, putting authority behind his words. "Open your hand and let me see.”

Harry blinked at him and then looked down at his fist; he opened it immediately. Within his palm lay a firefly. It didn’t look well. It glowed weakly in Harry’s hand, but didn’t move. Bob surmised that the insect had been drawn to the light only to be caught in the spider’s web.

“It’s a lightning bug," Harry explained. "Some people call them fireflies. They’ve always been my favorite growing up. My dad and I would go outside and catch them when I was little. He told me that they always reminded him of little fairies when he was a kid.”

Bob looked from the firefly to Harry, taking in the boy’s words. The beastly little thing didn’t look like any fairy he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter; wisdom told him to hold his tongue. “I see.”

“It looks sick. Is there anything we can do?”

Bob gazed down at the tiny creature. “No, it appears to have already been bitten.”

“But it’s still alive.”

“It won’t be for long, judging by the look of things.”

“There must be something we can do.” The fact that Harry kept saying “we” didn't escape his notice. “We can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“Harry," he reasoned. "The poor thing is done for. It’s the nature of things to die. You know this.”

“But it’s still alive,” Harry urged again.

Harry was very obviously overreacting. Bob supposed the firefly reminded Harry of good memories with his father. The loss of him and all their tomorrows together was a wound still too fresh in his mind. Despite his insight - and even his empathy - there wasn’t much to be done.

“Harry,” he began and tried to reason with him again. “I’m quite certain that even in this more enlightened day and age in which you live, I highly doubt that the rescue of these so-called glowing beetles-in-distress have taken up such a high priority in the hearts and minds of the population that scientists have invented first aid for the blasted things. It's best to let it be."

“Help me,” Harry insisted.

“And, pray, what precisely would you have me do?”

“You could…” Harry bit at his lower lip. “Do you - do you think magic could make it well? A healing spell, maybe?”

Bob looked up from the firefly and to Harry again. For once the child’s dark eyes were clear of suspicion and distrust.

“Teach me?”

It was the ‘in’ that he'd been waiting for. It wasn’t as Bob might have envisioned it. His first lesson: To save a luminescent beetle. Only there it was.

“Are you certain?”

Harry nodded his reply.

“Alright," he began and cleared his throat. "Now normally you’d have a focal point such as a staff or a wand to channel the energy required for such a task. Since you won’t be requiring all that much, I believe we can forgo these tools of the trade this once.”

Bob pronounced the necessary words for an appropriate healing spell slowly so Harry could comprehend. He was rewarded when he heard Harry quietly stumble through the words, then repeated them again with more confidence.

“Now you must be careful. While the words hold a certain amount of power, it is you who ultimately controls them and gives them the strength necessary for the spell to work." He moved to stand behind Harry. Peering over his shoulder, he bent down to ear level. "It’s such a tiny little thing and the force of your will can kill just as easily as it can strengthen and heal,” he whispered.

Harry nodded and concentrated.

Bob felt the power as it began to build in his student. Only it was too strong. “Ah, ah, ah," he cautioned. "Focus inward. If you don't control some of that energy of yours, your little pet will be nothing but smoke and ash. Then your valiant attempt at mercy will be for nothing. You must concentrate on healing the insect, not incinerating it.”

Harry struggled to obey him with a good amount of effort. Concentration making his face grow serious, he squeezed his eyes shut and focused his will. Bob watched as a small pale blue light emerged from the boy’s hand. It pulsed once and then faded.

Harry let out a breath and opened his eyes. The firefly flew up from his hand glowing a little too-brightly, but otherwise unharmed. It zipped around them once before fluttering off into the night.

“So you _can_ be taught,” Bob marveled. "Impressive."

He was more than impressed. Harry had succeeded on his first try. There was much potential here.

“I did it?” Harry asked, uncertain.

Bob nodded. “It looks like you’ve ruined a spider’s dinner after all,” he said proudly. “Well done, Harry.”

“I did it,” Harry repeated with a little more conviction. “I did it!” Harry laughed, hopping in place.

His student's excitement was palpable. It was the first time Bob had ever seen him genuinely happy about anything. The light hit Harry’s eyes just right making them appear to sparkle and dance within their sockets. For just one moment Harry’s joy rivaled the ever-present power that bound him to his skull.

Harry's enthusiasm must have been contagious because Bob caught himself half-grinning affectionately. “That you did. I --”

He felt a pair of warm arms pass through him. The sudden, unexpected contact caused him to leap back as if he'd been burned. “What are you doing!” he demanded.

The boy crossed his arms over his chest, shivering. “Uh, I guess I was trying to hug you, maybe?” Harry replied, uncertain. He shivered again. “You’re so cold.”

“I am,” Bob agreed. He relaxed his guard. “To manifest as a visible entity, I draw energy from all corners of the room. It causes a slight drop in temperature that's barely perceptible to the human senses. When you touched me just now, you were struck by my undiluted essence. Me in my purest form. The cold you feel is quite natural, so there's no cause for alarm. You’ll be alright in a few moments.”

“It’s a little weird,” Harry confessed.

Bob didn't know how to respond. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had intentionally touched him, much less tried to hug him.

“I suppose that I should have cautioned you." He paused long enough to chuckle in wry amusement. "But it’s not everyday I’m attacked by a sleep-deprived youth suffering through a mad fit of euphoria.”

Harry's expression fell and he backed away from him. Moving over to his bed, he crawled back in, mindful of the skull he’d left there. “You, uh, gotta point. I guess I got a little carried away.”

Bob grimaced at his own thoughtlessness. “It wasn’t my intention to berate you just now, Harry,” he explained, hoping that Harry would hear his unspoken apology. “Your actions were certainly unexpected, but not unwelcome.”

Harry only shrugged and picked up the skull again. “Don’t worry about it.”

Feeling as though he’d just put his foot in it, he decided to change the subject to safer territory. “You must be tired. You should think about getting some rest."

Harry was quiet for a time as he stared hard at the skull. “I miss him, you know?”

“Pardon?”

“My dad; I miss him.”

Bob said nothing. He rarely did when Harry’s thoughts turned to his father.

Harry laughed softly. He continued to turn the skull over in his hands. “You know what? Life’s funny.”

Bob tilted his head.

“Before you showed up, I was just sitting here thinking how things played out. How Dad tried so hard to keep my uncle away. Now that Dad’s dead and Justin has custody of me, I never see him. He’s always away tending to Council business. I don’t see what the big deal was all about. Maybe if Dad had known that, he wouldn’t have worried so much and he’d still be here.”

“Harry, you mustn't think that way. You had no way of knowing about your father. And even if you did, you couldn't have stopped what happened.”

“You sound so sure about that, but I feel like it’s all my fault. If I’m supposed to have all this power inside me..." Harry paused. "I might’ve been able to save him if I’d spent some time here with you earlier. I might’ve known how to use my power to fix him like I did the firefly.”

“Harry, no. No, you couldn’t. Death is far too powerful a force. It isn't to be trifled with. Saving an insect is nothing compared to healing a larger being. It would be like trying to rescue a drowning man with but the skills of a novice swimmer. The man you’d be attempting to save would latch on to you and drag you both under. It’s the same with a life force. It will fight you as it seeks out any energy surrounding it in a desperate bid to save itself. Had you attempted to save your father with such a spell, you would've been dragged under too. Both of you would now be dead.”

He didn’t mention the fact that Harry’s father’s death hadn’t been a natural one. The death had been caused by black magic and if Harry had intervened with his fledging ability, he would have been killed right along with his father. “Believe me on this. Do not blame yourself for your father’s death. Don’t blame your father, either. He believed his actions would keep you safe. I’m certain that he loved you very much to show such devotion to your welfare. Never doubt that.”

Harry nodded his head once, taking in what Bob had said. “I think Dad would’ve liked you.”

Bob shook his head. “I doubt that very much,” he replied, truthfully.

“You always say that. The way you talk sometimes it's like you don’t want me liking you. From where I sit, you’re okay. Cranky, maybe, but you’re not bad.”

He was bad enough. In his time the mere mention of his true name could cause grown men to tremble in fear. He didn’t say that, however.

“What did you do to get yourself trapped inside your skull?”

Harry had asked this question before, and Bob had to sigh at his continued persistence. “Many things. Both great and terrible.”

“D'ya think you could be anymore vague?”

“Perhaps my being vague is answer enough. Surely your uncle has told you something of my glorious past.”

Harry shrugged. “Not much. Sometimes I catch him watching you like he half expects you to reach out and bite him. And he’s not the only one. I’ve seen the way others react to you too. It’s like they’re afraid to be in the same room with you. I don’t get it. It’s almost like you had the plague or something. Is that it? Is that how you died?”

If only it were that simple. “You know very well that it wasn’t a disease that killed me. It was a very deliberate act. Regardless it need not concern you.”

Bob was ignored.

“I didn’t think so. That odd triangle at the back of your skull is a little strange. Unless you fell and hit your head, it looks like someone struck you with something."

Harry glanced at him through his bangs again; the sight of it caused Bob to frown. He made a mental note to speak with Justin about having them trimmed in the morning. Harry's hair had grown positively shaggy.

Harry's attention returned to the skull, his fingers tracing the gouges in the bone. “This carving is deep,” he observed. “It must’ve taken a lot of force to do that.”

“I have no doubt that it did.”

“Somebody must’ve really hated you.”

“I’m certain I gave them enough cause. You don’t get damned for all eternity for tiptoeing through another sorcerer’s rose garden."

Harry appeared to roll that over in his mind before answering. “I really don’t see you as the tiptoeing type.”

Bob chuckled softly and leaned forward conspiratorially to whisper, “Whatever gave me away?”

Harry smiled back. It was good to see the humor return to his eyes. That grin, along with the shagginess of his hair, coupled with the sparkle in those too-dark eyes of his gave him the appearance of an over-sized puppy.

Bob masked his amusement over the illusion. "I can assure you that I earned my punishment. In my time, I was..." he paused and attempted to find the right turn of phrase. "I was very good at being bad."

"I'd love to hear about it,” Harry encouraged. “And we’re both up.”

“It’s not a suitable bedtime story, Harry."

“I’m almost twelve. Maybe I don’t wanna bedtime story.”

“It's a tale of darkness. Of lust and greed and power. It's a story of heroes and villains. Of love lost, and then regained, only to be lost forever.”

“And you’re not going to tell me, are you?” Harry surmised.

He closed his eyes and shook head. “No,” he replied softly.

"It must hurt you to talk about it.”

That boy was far too perceptive. Despite his own good sense, he found himself confessing the truth. "It does," he answered. "Perhaps one day I’ll muster up the courage to tell you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. But I don’t guarantee that you’ll like what you hear. It may change your opinion of me,” Bob confided.

Harry cocked his head at the remark. To his credit he said nothing. He made no false promises that what Bob had to say wouldn’t change things between them.

“I do promise, however, to make it interesting. I might even throw in a few ghouls just for you.”

"Don't you mean zombies?"

"No, Harry. I mean ghouls, or revenants to be more precise. Revenants are re-animated remains with an insatiable hunger for flesh and are more closely related to the vampire. Rotting, walking corpses with a need for human brains does not a zombie make.”

“You mean they’re real?” Harry squeaked.

“Of course.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide in fear and Bob hastened to explain. “You need not concern yourself with them. This house is heavily warded against those and many other creatures, but yes, they exist. They’re a nasty bit of business, but surprisingly easy to kill.”

“Oh,” Harry said. A slightly worried expression danced across his features.

“Whether from ignorance or some conspiracy, your modern culture often confuses them--"

“You know I do have to go to sleep sometime tonight…” Harry hinted.

“--but they are, in fact, two separate entities.”

“Soon would be good."

“Zombies are associated with a form of Hoodoo.”

Harry resorted to a stage yawn that he half-covered with the back of his hand. He stretched his limbs dramatically. “I’m feeling awfully tired all of the sudden..."

“And I do mean Hoodoo, not Voodoo. That’s another modern day misconception--”

“Bob," Harry interrupted. "It’s bedtime. You don’t have to try and teach me everything you know all in one night.”

“--they're often mistaken for one another…” Bob paused his lecture. The pair of them had finally made a breakthrough. Since he didn’t know how long their truce was likely going to last, he’d been unwilling to give up his advantage. “What? Too much?"

“A little,” Harry confessed.

Bob allowed a small sigh. “Alright, then. I'll save the lesson for another time.”

Rolling, his eyes, Harry blew out a breath. "Super..."

"Harry?” Bob cautioned with a mild scowl. “I _can_ see you."

The boy snickered. Harry placed the skull on the nightstand beside his bed with care and switched off the light. He sank down onto his stomach, his face buried deep in a pillow.

“Harry, this isn't the study,” Bob chided. “You need to put my skull back where you found it.”

“Blame it on my being lazy." The reply was barely recognizable as English, it being muffled by the pillow. "I’ll put you back where you belong tomorrow.” A second later Harry lifted his head. “You don’t mind, do you? You weren’t planning on working on something, were you?”

“As a matter of fact, I was...” Bob paused long enough to observe Harry's expression. “Oh, I don’t like that look,” he commented, suddenly suspicious.

“It’s just… well... I guess…the dream really got to me.”

“And what am I to do all night long? Am I to play the role of the protector like some fairytale prince and chase your nightmares away?”

“No, no.” Harry protested, if a little too quickly. “Just, you know, maybe try and wake me up if you see me having a bad dream?”

Bob was silent. Thoughtful. It wasn’t everyday he was called upon to keep the nightmares at bay. In his experience he usually caused them. After a moment he assented by inclining his head to the side, bowing it at an angle. “If that is your wish.”

Harry looked up at him. The humor behind the boy’s eyes shone brightly. “Are you sure you’re not a genie?”

“Quite certain,” he retorted. Only he surprised even himself by allowing Harry to see his unexpected grin.

Growing serious once more, he continued. “Now,” he began. Bob held up his index finger in warning. “I will remain here tonight, but please; let's refrain from making a habit of it. I detest stagnation and would prefer to retain some measure of my dignity.”

Harry looked grateful. He snuggled down into his pillow once more. “Thanks, Bob.”

“Let us not mention it." To save face, he added, "And I do mean that quite literally; we shall not speak of this again.”

"If you want...maybe we can tour the grounds tomorrow after my lessons?”

Bob blinked. Would wonders never cease? He couldn’t fathom what he’d done to be so rewarded. “I’d like that very much.”

He paused for a moment and eyed Harry with renewed suspicion. Unaccustomed as he was to the kindness of others he wasn't inclined to trust his new-found connection with the boy without searching for some kind of ulterior motive.

“Don't think your offer will make me go easy on you tomorrow. You’ve been holding back on your abilities for some time. I foresee us focusing on rigorous training in all things wondrous and thaumaturgic for a full six hours.”

“Six hours!” Harry exclaimed, shooting up from the pillow.

“Perhaps I should make it seven. And as you seem so fond of reminding me of your age, it’s just occurred to me that for a young man of such advanced years, your education in the magical arts is decidedly lacking. We have much to cover to get you caught up.”

“But seven hours? We’ll be missing such a beautiful day outside. You can’t lock us both up with those dusty old books and all that chalk!”

“Oh, but I can. Besides, I don’t see a problem. I won’t be affected by the dust.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Bob had to squint, but he decided that his student did look rather unwell. Harry's complexion was perhaps a shade or two on the greenish side. Or it could've been that he was looking at him in total darkness and what he was seeing had more to do with a trick of the mind's eye than any real threat of illness.

“We’ll study for six hours, but only if I see a marked improvement on your part.”

“Three hours.”

“Five.”

“I’ll work hard for four hours,” Harry wheedled.

“Four and a half.”

“Done!”

“Very well, Master Dresden. We shall see how much knowledge I can cram into that thick little skull of yours without it oozing out the other side for four and a half hours. After that you may show me the wonders you’ve discovered in the out-of-doors.”

“It’s a deal,” Harry said with a grin.

“It’s not wise to make deals with spirits, Harry,” he cautioned.

“Too bad. I think I just did,” Harry said. He was grinning from ear-to-ear now. “You know. This might sound selfish of me for saying this. I'm sure it can't be any fun for you to be trapped inside your skull and all, but...I'm really glad you're here. I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to get so upset with you.”

Bob blinked once again, taken aback by Harry's thoughtfulness. He was also unaccustomed to apologies. He shook his head a fraction of an inch, feeling the uncharacteristic need to assure another that all was well. "Your words didn't hurt me, but I thank you for considering my feelings on the matter."

“’Night, Bob.”

“Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well.”

The boy settled down. Eventually he dozed, drifting off into a heavier slumber.

Bob studied the sleeping child. Harry was a sweet and uncommon little boy. He didn’t deserve what his uncle had in store for him.

To make matters worse, Harry seemed to genuinely like him. He was even showing the beginnings of trust in him without Bob resorting to trickery on his part.

It was something so far removed from what he was accustomed to that he didn’t know how to react. This apparent gift was one he’d neither expected nor coveted, but it was present despite all his protests and flippant remarks.

It was a responsibility not to be taken lightly.

His attention wavered back and forth between Harry and the open window.

He watched the little nighttime dramas playing outside and felt the pull of its siren song once again, but willed himself not to be overwhelmed by it while he listened for any small hitch in Harry’s breathing pattern, alert for signs of trouble.

He recalled Justin’s damning words. _“Teach him. Be whatever the boy wishes you to be, whether it’s his teacher, father, or his friend. Hell, be his damned mother if that’s what he wants. Just gain his trust, and then show him how seductive and powerful magic can be. Focus on Harry’s strengths, cultivate them and allow them to grow. Mold him. Guide him into what he’s to become.”_

He and Harry were both ensnared in a web from which there was no escape. Only Bob was in a web of his own making. Harry was not.

One day, too soon, Harry would come to realize that his teacher was one of the things in the night to be feared. That Bob - however unwilling - was a co-conspirator in his eventual corruption. He was Justin Morningway’s servant. And like any good servant, he served his masters well. Perhaps he served them a little too well.

In any case he couldn’t protect Harry.

Morningway suffered from delusions of grandeur. The truth of the matter was that the man was quite common with his supposed new ideas that were, in fact, ancient. Since the beginning of time there had been plans and machinations - moves and countermoves - in the fight to tip the scales in the balance of power among their kind.

It was the way of things before Hrothbert of Bainbridge had been born and it would be so long after the last remnants of him turned to dust. The cycle was never-ending.

Justin saw conspiracy around every corner. His little power plays with the High Council were going to get him into trouble one day and he was determined to take Harry down with him.

Bob envisioned Harry as an adult under Morningway’s influence - a predator in human form - both cunning and dangerous. The visage smirked at him from the shadows. The only light reflected in those cruel, dead-black irises was a cold flame. The little boy with the dancing eyes was long since gone, swallowed up by the darkness. Bob pushed the image away with a flick of his wrist.

Morningway wanted Bob to teach the child the Black. It was an unspoken command that he had to obey, but Justin was over-confident in the hold he had over him. It made him careless. He should have realized that when dealing with a doomed creature trapped between thresholds, his commands had to be very, very specific.

He’d teach Harry. It wouldn’t be his fault if Harry’s strengths happened to lean more towards his protective nature. Bob would nurture them and allow them to grow. He would attempt to fill the void in Harry's life. To be what was needed.

Bob couldn’t go completely against Morningway’s commands. So Harry would be shown the Black, but he’d counter the lessons with those on how to guard against it.

Harry would eventually have to make a choice as to which side he was on. There was a good possibility that he was already doomed and would rise up as a dark power one day. Only Bob was determined that Harry’s decision - when made - would be an informed one, regardless.

Knowledge was power with magic all its own. Perhaps with Bob’s guidance, it would be enough to tip the balance in Harry’s favor. It was the least he could do to repay the kindness shown him.

Harry murmured in his sleep, becoming restless.

The boy whimpered and Bob moved to the side of the bed. In a hushed whisper, Harry called out for his father. “Dad? Is that you? I thought I’d lost you...”

At least this night he could offer some measure of comfort to a lonely little boy. It was in his power to keep this particular darkness at bay.

Bob bent down low. “Never, Harry," he whispered in a voice that wasn't his own. "That will never happen. Hush now. It was only a bad dream.”

Harry clutched at his pillow, smiling through his tears. "Daddy..."

The end

 

~*~


End file.
